the way the low gray clouds thinhere on this still-sleeping block:Powderhorn: Minneapolis:

the way the low gray clouds thinadmit flames of morning lightadmit my gathering joyadmit the fiery work of Love

I dance with a toddlerI wipe snot and yogurt from her faceI come with the honey-gold moon risingI caress the nape of my lover's neckI sing out the songs as I remember & I love every breath of my remembering

For me this day mattersas much as any other no more, no less

Meanwhile in this cityand meanwhile in these days

the police shoot a black man,a handcuffed man, a gone manstand and watch him die

mothers gather milkfor the burning eyesof the protestors

five protestors are shotwhile police stand and watch

a mass of fierce Lovers marchon the federal building

and mining the stunned silenceto speak of hate, savagery, domination

burning through denial to speak of rageto say that Love is not always gentleLove does not stand and watch

to thunder our rageand let it rain to stand up as a Loverin a real way

still guarantees brutalitypromises deathor disappearancein this country

And I know that my own continuancedances round the bones of these dead

here below, here nearby, here still waitingto be mourned, to be praised

And I know that my chance to write thisto go on working, to go on loving

rests on the bodies of these felled Loversand in the hands of these oneswho march with fists raised

Love does not stand and watch

but may go on singing, go on dancinggo on with her caresses & growls

in awe of these brave onesin tribute to these dead ones

Let us bear these hot emberssmoldering with Lovehowever tender,however enraged,with the work of LoveLet us burn together